


A Book of Life

by tinydooms



Category: The Mummy (1999), The Mummy Series
Genre: F/M, Family Dynamics, Found Family, Friendship, Libraries, Memories, Proposals, Romance, cocktails, domestic situations, father-son stories, lost family, marital shenanigans, soft battle couples, the mild eroticism of silk stockings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:20:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26369365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinydooms/pseuds/tinydooms
Summary: One shots of life with the Carnahans.
Relationships: Evy Carnahan O'Connell/Rick O'Connell
Comments: 22
Kudos: 39





	1. Gin Fizz and Silk Stockings

**Gin Fizz and Silk Stockings**

_Cairo, November 1922_

Evie flopped down on the sofa in the library of the Zamalek house, kicking her shoes off with a groan. What a day! She had been up since six and at the Museum since eight and now, some ten hours later, all Evie wanted was a stiff drink and a good dinner, followed by a long period of peace and quiet before bed. But they were making progress on the mess, thank God. Today she and Rick and their helpers had finally gotten the last of the books off of the floor and back onto the shelves in their assorted sections. Now she faced the gargantuan task of alphabetizing everything. Evie groaned. 

“Sounds like you need a cocktail.”

“A very large one, please.”

Rick grinned, tossing his jacket down over the back of the armchair he had claimed as his own, reaching to loosen his tie. Evie opened her eyes and watched him. Really, he was a beautiful man. He had disappeared for an afternoon a couple of days after their return to Cairo and reappeared later that evening with a couple of well-cut suits and a new hat, looking trim and dapper and just a little bit smug at how Evie’s eyes widened when she saw him. Now Rick ambled across to the sideboard and began to fuss with the bottles, pouring liquid into the cocktail shaker and swirling it together. He poured the drink out into a tumbler and brought it across to Evie. 

“Gin fizz,” he said, and Evie took the glass with a smile and sipped. It was light and frothy and just what she needed. 

“Were you a bartender in another life?”

Rick settled down next to her. “For a while, yeah. Evie?”

“Hmm?”

“May I take your stockings off?”

Evie looked over at him, surprised. “You want to take my stockings off?”

“Yeah.” Rick blushed a little. “You keep fidgeting; all I can think of is that your garters must be cutting into your legs.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. Evie didn’t usually pay attention to her lingerie, but it had been a long day and things were getting tight and uncomfortable. Rather shyly, she stretched her feet out to Rick. 

“Go on, then.”

Rick grinned at her, delighted, and rolled off of the couch. Really, why was it that a man going down on his knees in front of her sent a sharp zing through Evie’s core? Rick took her left foot in one big hand and gave it a squeeze, then slid his hands up her leg and under her skirt. That sharp zing flashed through Evie again as he cradled her thigh, fingers finding the clasps holding her stockings up and unsnapping each one. Rick’s hands were warm and gentle; he stroked the soft skin of her inner leg and looked up when Evie gasped. 

“All right?”

“Yes.” She swallowed. “You know, I do this every day and never shiver like you’re making me.”

Rick smirked at this slightly incoherent statement and began to roll the stocking down, down, and at last over Evie’s foot. “You’ve got great legs, have I told you that yet?”

Evie shook her head and Rick dropped the rolled-up stocking in her lap and started on the next. It was funny how _nice_ this felt, how quietly erotic it was to be undressed by him, even in this small way. Rick knew what he was doing, and someday she would ask him about that, but for now all Evie needed was to feel his lovely tender hands brushing her skin as he slid the second stocking off. 

“I’m keeping you,” she blurted out and he looked up at her, surprised. “You’re mine. It’s the code of librarians. Take our stockings off, you become ours.”

Rick squeezed Evie’s foot and kissed it right at the soft place behind the knobby ankle bone, and _really_ , that shouldn’t have felt as nice as it did. “Honey, I’ve been yours for a long time now and I promise you, I’m not going anywhere.”

Evie smiled and rubbed her hand over his hair. She believed him. 

Author's Note: let's be real, we'd all lose our damn minds if we were in Evie's stockings here. :-) This came from a prompt over on Tumblr; if you'd like to request a story,[ please feel free](https://tinydooms.tumblr.com/ask)! 


	2. Tea and Ginger Biscuits

**Tea and Ginger Biscuits**

_Cairo, November 1922_

“Do you know, I’ve spent a part of nearly every year of my life in Egypt and I’ve never been to Aswan?”

Rick turned from the tiny hot plate on Evelyn’s office sideboard and raised his eyebrows. The statement had come from nowhere. “Miss Carnahan, I find that fact shocking in the extreme.”

“Don’t tease,” Evie said, signing off a catalogue card and adding it to the stack at her elbow. “You’re right, though. It _is_ odd. Mother and Father always preferred to work in the Valley of the Kings, and I can’t say I blame them considering the luck they had there, but for some reason they disdained Aswan. I can’t imagine why.”

Rick took the kettle off the hot plate and poured boiling water into a teapot. “Maybe they went there once and somebody was rude to your mother?”

“I doubt that; people were often rude to Mother, but she never let it stop her from doing what she wanted. I wonder--”

Evie prattled on, leaning on her elbows as Rick arranged the tea tray, adding milk from a bottle he kept cooling in an ice-filled vase and adding a plateful of ginger biscuits from a tin on the sideboard. He listened with one ear, letting Evie’s words wash over him, content as he had never been before. They had been re-organizing the card catalogue all afternoon, re-filing the cards into new sections and writing up new ones. It was work that Rick enjoyed, simple and repetitive, but never boring. He had paused to make them a snack. One thing Rick had learned about Evelyn was that when she was really absorbed in something, she would forget to eat; thus, he had set up provisions. He carried the tea tray to the desk and set it down, pouring her out strong tea with milk and one sugar, just how she liked it. 

Rick loved this. He had jokingly called himself Evie’s assistant that first day with her at the library, but now he simply _was,_ and it was wonderful. Helping her clean up the library, picking up books and putting them away, organizing and repairing and alphabetizing then, going home with her after a long day and relaxing at the Zamalek house that Rick had begun to identify as home: this was medicine to him after the long, lost years after the War. It reminded him of the happy times in Marrakech, back before the War, when he had been a burgeoning antiquities dealer, a young man with a trade and hope. Only it was so much _better_ now, in every possible way. Now Rick had Evie and she was the most wonderful, the best thing that had ever happened to him. He poured her tea and passed her the ginger biscuits and leaned on his elbow, watching her as she talked, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“...on Elephantine Island; I don’t think anyone’s excavated the temple there in something like twenty years. And certainly no one has done a really thorough photographic examination of the carvings and stele since at least 1910--”

A great surge of affection filled Rick for this indefatigable, adventurous librarian. Barely four weeks had passed since they had fought for their lives at Hamunaptra and survived and already Evelyn wanted to go out again. Seeing the smile on his face, Evie faltered. 

“Do you think I’m being foolish?”

“No, Evie,” Rick said. “I think you’re wonderful.”

“Oh, good.” Evie brightened again. “We could make it a holiday, you know. Sail up to Aswan and stay at the Old Cataract Hotel and go to the Island with cameras--”

Nodding his agreement, Rick took up a pencil and a blank index card and wrote on it. He slid the card across the table to Evie, who picked it up almost absentmindedly. Her voice trailed off as she read and registered the question. Her lips parted; she looked up at Rick with her glowing green eyes very wide. 

“Well?” His heart was pounding; his voice was shy. “What do you think?”

A grin broke across Evie’s face. Lifting her pen, she scribbled a word on the card and pushed it back across the desk to him. _Yes._

Joy flooded Rick like water bursting from a dam. He and Evie grinned at each other, laughing, giddy, and she came around the desk to sit on his lap and kiss him. Rick cuddled her close and leaned his forehead against hers. He couldn’t wait to see what adventures lay in store for them. 

Author's Note: this was written in answer to a prompt over on Tumblr. I'm going to make this set of stories into a series, a place to post fluffy O'Connell/Carnahan family stories so that they're not running amok on my page. If you want to request a story, [please feel free to do so](https://tinydooms.tumblr.com/ask)!


	3. A Remembrance of Things Past

**A Remembrance of Things Past**

_Cairo, December 1922_

One of the things that Evie quite liked about Rick was the man-ness of him. Not just his attitudes or his masculine traits, but simply his state of being. She liked seeing his shaving tackle, razor and shaving brush and soap, laid neatly out in the bathroom, liked the little glass bottle of aftershave sitting alongside her bottles of scented toilet water, liked the red and white tub of Brylcreem he combed through his hair. Evie’s father, being a Victorian for all of his more liberal beliefs, had never allowed her to see the accoutrements of his toilet, and Jonathan had been off at school for much of Evie’s childhood, so it was interesting to see the ways that Rick took care of himself. 

The rouge locket was out of place, though. Evie noticed it one morning while cleaning her teeth, popping in to rinse and spit while Rick finished brushing his hair, resting on the countertop. She tapped it with light fingers. 

“What’s this?”

“Rouge,” Rick said, setting down his comb and reaching past her to wash his hands. 

“I know, I have one,” Evie replied, giving him a curious look. “May I?”

“Sure.”

Evie picked up the little locket and turned it over in her hands. It was old and a little battered, the black enamel lid dented and the embossed flower decorating it a little dulled. It was pretty, but it wasn’t expensive: a trinket one could buy in a nice drug store. She turned it over. Max Factor was stamped on the bottom. The rouge inside was all gone, used or broken up. Rick was watching her closely. 

“Well, Holmes? What are your deductions?”

“Well, it belonged to a woman, clearly,” Evie said, “unless you are a secret rouge wearer, of course. It belonged to a woman who was elegant but not wealthy, since Max Factor is a drugstore brand, and it’s old, so you’ve had it a long time. It’s on a strong chain, a new one, so you’ve worn it to keep it safe. Did…did it belong to an old girlfriend?”

“No,” Rick said, taking the little piece of jewelry back. “It was my mother’s.”

“Oh,” Evie said, softly. 

Rick had only mentioned his mother once to her, so far, that first night out from Hamunaptra when he had told them that she had died when he was thirteen. He had been all alone since then, he had said, and seemed embarrassed when they were shocked. Evie still couldn’t imagine the horror of it. When her own parents had died, at least she had had Jonathan and several good family friends to fall back on. 

“I worked extra shifts in a drugstore to be able to buy it,” Rick continued, turning the locket over much as Evie had. “The Christmas I was ten. She worked so hard to keep us, I wanted her to have something pretty. It’s cheap, I know that now, but she wore it until the day she died.” 

“What was her name?”

“Margaret.” Rick gave a small shrug, as though embarrassed or, as Evie was beginning to learn about him, shy. “It’s all I had left of her after she died. We could never afford a picture.”

Evie put her arms around him. Rick stiffened, surprised, and then relaxed against her. 

“I’m so sorry, darling,” she said. “I’m sorry that you lost her, and so young. It must have been awful.”

Rick seemed to sag against her, resting his cheek on her hair. He had never had a chance to really talk about it. “It _was_ awful. I was just a kid, and she was all I had. She was lovely. You would have loved her. She’d have loved _you_.”

Evie kissed his cheek, held him close. “Tell me about her.”

He told her. 

Author's Note: this was written in response to a prompt on Tumblr. If you'd like to request a story, [please feel free](https://tinydooms.tumblr.com/ask)! I love getting messages and comments and prompts. :-)


	4. Vespers

**Vespers**

“Dad. Dad. Dad.”

The summons was accompanied by staccato pats on the face. Rick pulled himself up out of sleep and opened his eyes. Darkness filled the room; moonlight streaming through the parted curtains silvered the pale blond hair of Alex, standing beside him. 

“Kiddo, what are you doing out of bed? You’re not well,” Rick exclaimed in a whisper. He rolled over and lifted the blankets up. “Get in here at once.”

Alex clambered up under the covers and folded himself into Rick’s arms. At four he was all baby pudge and floppy limbs. “Dad, I’m mizzerble.”

“Miserable, huh? Tell me,” Rick whispered, hoping not to wake Evie just behind him.

A particularly vicious head cold had been making the rounds through the family, picked up somewhere between the Southampton docks and the village train station. First Rick had had it, then Evie, and now Alex, who was currently looking up at him with big, sad eyes and clearly hoping that Rick could slay the germs like he slew the monsters under the bed. 

“My face hurts,” Alex said, “and my toes is cold, and my nose is cold, and my chest feels like pudding, and I am mizzerble.”

“Aw, baby,” Rick murmured, cuddling his son to him, “I’m so sorry. It’s a rotten one, this cold. What would make you feel better?”

“If it went away,” Alex said, plaintively. 

“It will, kiddo, I promise. The best thing is to snuggle in and sleep it off.”

“I don’t wanna sleep. I wanna have adventures.”

Rick grinned. “Not in the middle of the night. Those ones aren’t fun. Let me feel your feet.”

Alex pulled his feet up, kneeing Rick in the stomach as he did so, and Rick wrapped his big warm hand around the tiny toes. They  _ were _ cold. Rick winced. 

“I thought Mum put you to bed in socks,” he whispered, rubbing Alex’s feet. 

Alex shrugged. “They were too hot so I took ‘em off. And then I couldn’t find ‘em. Can I stay with you?”

“Yes, I think that’s the best idea,” Rick said, tucking the blankets in more firmly around Alex. “Snuggle in, that’s it. Poor little kid.”

Alex sniffled and settled in against Rick’s chest, going soft and heavy as Rick rubbed his back in soothing circles. In moments the little boy was asleep. Rick pressed a kiss to his son’s downy hair and rested his chin on top of the little head. Rotten colds. It would pass, though, and he knew from experience that the best medicine was warmth and safety. Well. They had that in abundance. Rubbing his child’s back, Rick let himself relax back into sleep. 

Author's Note: not quite my first outing with Alex, but close! Have some family fluff. I hope you like it! Please let me know what you think in the comments!


	5. French 75

**French 75**

_Cairo, March 1923_

Evie opened her eyes. Her vision was blurry; she blinked heavy sleep from her eyes. The room was turned the wrong way round--how peculiar. No. She was lying upside down in bed, her head where her feet should be. How odd. And cold--where were the blankets? Evie felt around herself, still not fully awake, and found a sheet hanging off the edge of the bed. She pulled it over herself. No wonder she was cold; she was wearing no clothing. Wait. 

Evie opened her eyes and looked round, nonplussed. Yes, she was lying the wrong way around in her own bed with a decided lack of both clothing and bedding. Rick lay beside her in a similar state of deshabille. Raising herself up on an elbow, Evie saw that their clothes were flung around the room. Her aubergine evening gown was draped decorously over a chair, true, but Rick’s nice evening suit was crumpled on the floor, the jacket by the door and the trousers with one leg inside-out, and their underwear was strewn about the room, flung willy-nilly, and one of Evie’s stockings was hanging off the top of the four-poster. She felt very sticky, but otherwise very lovely. Sated. Memory began to reassert itself as she looked over the mess. 

They had gone dancing at one of the newer nightclubs, where the band played American jazz music. There had been cocktails, a lot of them, and she and Rick had become hot and high-spirited. Evie remembered flirting with Rick, both of them laughing uproariously, dancing dangerously close even for a married couple, deciding that they wanted to go home for some proper hanky-panky. She remembered kissing in the cab, stumbling through the house trying to be quiet and failing, falling into their bedroom and slamming the door. She remembered fumbling with Rick’s buttons, desperate to get him undressed and into her arms, remembered pushing him down onto the bed and climbing onto him, riding him like they were going into battle. Oh, _yes_ . She remembered _that._ Evie grinned. 

She lowered her eyes to her husband. Rick was sprawled beside her, so still he seemed dead. Evie put her hand on his chest: his heart beat firm and steady under her palm. Really, he was so beautiful it was almost indecent. Those broad shoulders, those long legs, his strong arms and tapered waist and smooth lower belly...Evie leaned on her elbow, looking Rick over in a way that would have made him blush were he awake. She rubbed her hand over him, chest to belly to-

Rick sprang awake with a gasp and a start that made Evie pull her hand back. He started to sit up, then clutched his head and fell back with a groan. 

“Are you alright?” Evie asked.

Rick cracked his eyes open. The room was the wrong way around and the light was too bright. It seemed to be morning. His wife was smirking at him. “What happened last night?”

Evie, whose hair was so tousled it was practically standing on end, grinned wider. “What do you remember?”

Rick closed his eyes and tried to rein in his circling thoughts. He remembered dancing, and drinking, and laughing. He remembered Evie sitting on his lap in the taxi home, putting his hand up her skirt because she liked it and he could. He remembered rubbing his face into the soft skin of her inner legs, making her moan; remembered pushing her down into the mattress with her knees hooked over his shoulders until she was a screaming, writhing mess of pleasure. He opened his eyes. 

“Did we get really drunk and have very loud sex?”

“Yes,” Evie said, tracing patterns into his chest. “At least, I remember the cocktails and the sex. I’m not so sure about being loud. How do you feel?”

“Like I’m going to die,” Rick said, but he grinned as he said it and pulled her into his arms. Evie was perfect and naked and if his head hadn’t felt like it was about to roll off of his shoulders, Rick would have been ecstatic. “Tell me again, how is it fair that I get hangovers and you don't?”

Evie laughed. “My poor darling. But we had fun. I feel delicious.”

“You look delicious,” Rick replied. “If I didn’t feel so gross, I’d eat you.”

“Well, you know what they say about ‘hair of the dog’...”

Rick rolled over, pinning Evie beneath him. Her eyes took on a singularly come-hither look and Rick chuckled and kissed her cheek. “Honey, at the moment the only thing I’m capable of is drinking a lot of water and lying in a hot bath. You don’t want me right now. I’m disgusting.”

“Oh, fine.” Evie bopped his chest and Rick lay back down beside her, willing his stomach to stop rolling. “Let’s have a bath and I’ll fetch you an aspirin. I daresay we’ve had enough love making for one night.”

Rick made a small grunt as Evie rolled out of bed and went through to the bathroom for the aspirin. She was so very beautiful, and outrageous, and funny, and damn this wretched hangover. The sooner he was shot of it, the better. Rick tottered upright and, one hand to his head, followed her into the new day. 

Author's Note: this was in response to a prompt on Tumblr. If you'd like to leave me a fic request, please do! I love hearing from you all. A French 75 is a cocktail (as you probably already know) and it was newly invented during WW1 and said to have a kick akin to a French 75mm field gun. 


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